


Explanation Time

by Cinder7storm4



Series: How can I trust you? [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Derek Uses His Words, Derek's pack referenced, Gen, Pack Dynamics, Self-Esteem Issues, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has Low Self-Esteem, Stilinski Family Feels, Talking, Trust, Trust Issues, implication of drugging, pre-Sterek - Freeform, references to wolfsbane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 22:19:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinder7storm4/pseuds/Cinder7storm4
Summary: Derek, Stiles, and John have a conversation about the supernatural. By then end, John and Derek have a tentative agreement to take care of Stiles, even if Stiles doesn't know it yet.





	Explanation Time

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Stiles’ anxiety spiked as he set foot back in the kitchen, thinking how just an hour or so ago he’d been here with his dad, staving off a panic attack. Derek felt Stiles’ heart rate and breathing increase, and operating more on instinct than anything else reach out to put a comforting hand on the young human’s shoulder. Though Stiles tensed he let the hand stay there, his shoulders relaxing minutely. Before he considered the appropriateness of his action Derek’s wolf decided to push its luck with its packmate and sets about drawing pain from Stiles’ body. 

Thin black veins creep up Derek’s arm, and that is the sight the Sheriff is greeted by as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. His son, looking even more fragile than earlier but still so strong, leaning slightly against Derek. The Sheriff clears his throat, and Stiles shakes Derek’s hand off, not looking at either of them as he takes a seat at the table. He deliberately stays away from the seat he occupied that morning, but the moment he chooses his new perch wonders if it’s smart to alienate so many chairs in the kitchen set. If these revelations continue happening he might need to just pick a chair that’ll forever be his “oh, shit, I’m sorry” spot forever and always. 

Derek leans on the counter, to the left of Stiles, keeping himself casually between the Sheriff and his son. The separation is not lost on the Sheriff, but it is on Stiles, who looks like he’d give anything to be anywhere else at the moment. John, sighs internally, then settles himself in the chair to the left of Stiles and starts asking questions, “You were drugged last night?” 

Stiles’ eyes snap to his dad in confusion, wondering why they were starting there, but he figured he should follow his dad’s lead for the moment “Kind of.”  
“Yes.”

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, and when Derek glared at Stiles the human only rolled his eyes, “It’s not the same for me as it was for the puppies.” 

“You were still drugged, Stiles.”

“With what?” cut in John, in an effort to prevent Stiles from going after Derek’s wording and avoiding his father’s queries. 

“Wolfsbane,” replied Derek curtly, “It’s a flower. It can cause everything from headaches to death. Whatever you were all dosed with last night was laced with something that prompted hallucinations and dulled the fatal effects considerably, thankfully.” He spoke mainly to Stiles, not that he didn’t want to have this conversation with John, but Stiles was his priority. 

“Death?” John repeated, the word echoing in his mind. He could have lost Stiles last night. Death.

“Yeah, but I’m not dead so I’m fine, Dad.” Stiles responded, eyes focused on a spot just beyond John’s right shoulder. 

Derek growled low in his throat. Stiles casual dismissal of his poisoning made him and his wolf furious. He had no idea how to make Stiles see what he was worth, but he wanted to help the human so badly. “Don’t you start,” sighed Stiles, some of the fight bleeding out of him as he slumped lower in his chair.

“Stiles, you don’t have…”

“What you have. I know. I am damn well aware of that, Derek!” Stiles’ voice was sharp, but sad too. 

“What do mean by that, kiddo?” John asked, voice going quieter, “Does this have to do with whatever the pack thing is?”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face then turned to look his dad in the eye, “Dad, there’s something I haven’t been telling you. Remember,” Stiles’ breathing stuttered, but he shrugged off the comforting hand Derek offered him, “remember the night I found the dead body in the woods?” John nodded, confused but determined to stay silent until he no longer could, “Well, Scott was there too. And he was bitten by something, at the time we didn’t know what it was,” Stiles held up a hand to stop his dad from jumping in, “Eventually, we,” Derek huffed in disbelief, “Fine, I, I figured out that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf.”

John blinked, once, twice, three times. His forehead creased as he tried to process the words coming out of Stiles’ mouth, but then there was that word, “Werewolf.” It echoed around in his skull. His first reaction was to laugh, or scoff, but just as he was about to do so he looked closer at his son. Stiles could lie with the best of them, John knew that, but when his son told the truth there was no mistaking it. His eyes would lighten just a touch as if telling the truth lifted a weight off of him and he would look his age, just for a moment. He looked that way now. John stifled his scoff and met his son’s eyes squarely, “Tell me everything.”

Stiles blinked. Anger. Derision. Amusement. He’d been expecting those emotions, but a demand for more information and what looked almost like belief in his father’s eyes, no, Stiles had never expected that. John cursed himself internally as his son’s eyes flared with surprise, then hope, both emotions quickly tamped down by the logic in Stiles’ brain no doubt. When was the last time he’d listened to his son? When was the last time he’d told him he believed him and meant it? John didn’t know and it scared him more than he’d like to admit. 

Derek had watched the exchange with interest, keeping one ear attuned to Stiles’ heartbeat and another on the Sheriff’s movements. He could feel the hope rolling off of Stiles in waves, hope that his father might believe him, might not regret him, and might, just might still love him at the end of this conversation. The anxiety and insecurity interwoven with his packmate’s hope made Derek’s wolf whine in discomfort, but he held himself back from indulging in his wolf’s wishes to cuddle Stiles. This conversation was important, and after all, Stiles might be pack, but he was certainly not Derek’s. Stiles belonged to no one. 

At his dad’s words Stiles launched into the story from the beginning, occasionally allowing interjections from Derek until technically they were both telling one story together. By the time they reached the topic of the night before and Lydia’s party, John had ten pages full of notes and questions scribbled down on a spare notebook he kept in the kitchen. Once Derek finished relating how Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had arrived home, not to the train station but to his newly procured loft, because Stiles had been adamant that they get proper living quarters, completely out of sorts there was silence. 

Stiles waited for his dad to laugh, yell, cry, or maybe all three, instead he simply closed up his notebook and met his son’s head straight on, “I believe you.”

The bottom dropped out of Stiles’ world. Derek casually stepped away from the counter to support Stiles’ chair from toppling backward and the flinch the young man hadn’t been able to hide at his father’s words. Derek was furious that such a small phrase could hold so much meaning for Stiles, who he’d learned to trust even before he tolerated him; Stiles who had done everything to keep his father, his friends, and even his goddamn enemies safe. Stiles recovered from his disorientation quickly, making a show of adjusting himself in his chair, which was now gripped tightly and securely by Derek, when had that happened?

“I mean, sure, Derek’s here, he can show you…?” Stiles, started to ramble, unable to completely process his dad’s words.

“I wouldn’t mind, seeing it in person might help, but Mica,” John inched a hand slowly over to where Stiles’ fingers were tapping on the table, “I believe you.”

“Why?”

The word was out of Stiles’ mouth so fast he couldn’t catch it. He regretted it the moment he said it, watching his dad’s face fall then right itself, but at the same time Stiles needed to know. 

“Because I wouldn’t before. Because I was scared. Because I don’t want to lose you to the monsters that inhabit this world and have you think I don’t trust you.” John spoke slowly, honestly, and clearly. Derek could sense the truth of his words, but Stiles, he was still so unsure. Yet, he nodded anyways. Derek and John shared a look over his head, one that communicated that they both knew what Stiles was thinking and that they would do something about it, but not now. 

Derek then stepped back from Stiles’ chair, and leaned back against the counter, drawing John’s eyes, “Just the beta shift first, Der,” Stiles asked, plainly trying not to terrify his dad. Derek happily compiled, face morphing into his beta shift, watching John’s hand twitch towards his gun and then away. Derek then smirked slightly, and went for full shift. That sent John from his chair, and forward, in an attempt to step between Stiles and Derek, but his son stood and put his hand out to stop his father from stepping forward. 

“Der, go change,” Stiles ordered the werewolf, who ambled out of the kitchen to grab a change of clothes from Stiles’ room. The human had demanded a change of clothes from each pack member early on in their exploits, so that he could keep a set on reserve for those nights when werewolves tumbled through his window, bleeding, naked, or both, “Dad, it’s okay.”

“Stiles, how can you be so calm?”

“He’s a human in a pack of wolves, he’s either crazy or has a death wish, of course he’s calm,” snarked Derek in the doorway, clad in sweats and a Henley, the alpha tipped his head, “Or maybe both.”

Stiles glowered at the wolf, who shrugged and settled into the chair to the right of the one his human had vacated. After a beat, the Sheriff sat down too, as did Stiles. “I have questions for you,” John pointed at Derek, “And both of you, but right now, all I’m concerned about is this thing last night.”

“They were poisoned essentially,” Derek stated, “I don’t think Lydia was the one to do it, at least not on purpose, but what’s important is that while the wolves have flushed it from their systems,”

“Accelerated healing” interjected Stiles, and Derek fought the twitch of a smile at Stiles’ easy handle on the supernatural.  
“Humans who were affected can suffer effects up until 48 hours after the event.”

“Is Allison okay?” Stiles asked, worry in his tone. 

Derek only just resisted rolling his eyes, of course Stiles would ask about Allison before thinking of himself. 

“I saw her this morning, at Lydia’s, I gave them both some antidote, because I knew you wouldn’t let me give you any if I hadn’t seen to them first.” 

Stiles squirmed slightly under Derek’s gaze, but he wouldn’t look away, “Well, they’re important. Allison’s a hunter, who if we can get her out from her crazy grandfather’s clutches can help protect the pack! And well, Lydia, we don’t know what she is yet, but she’s something!” Stiles was passionate about protecting the pack, even if up until this morning he’d thought that he wasn’t really part of it. Derek’s wolf preened at Stiles’ passion for protection but it worried Derek that Stiles didn’t see himself as a priority. He saw John shift out of the corner of his eye, and Derek sent him the tiniest of head shakes, now was not the time to deal with Stiles’ extensive self-esteem issues. 

Wordlessly, Derek pushed a small bottle of purplish liquid over to John, who examined it without picking it up, “This is the antidote. It’ll run through your system quickly, basically triggering the remainder of the wolfsbane in your system to react and burn out,” Derek looked at Stiles as he spoke, “The pack talked about hallucinations last night. This will probably trigger more of whatever happened, so you need someone with you,” Stiles opened his mouth to protest but John interjected before he could, “I’ll be here with him.”

Derek nodded, then stood, “Stiles can get you my number and address. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have that he can’t answer, Sheriff. And if I can’t answer them I’m sure my newly resurrected uncle will put himself to use.” 

“Don’t be too hard on Peter,” Stiles whispered, “He was crazy.”

Derek patted the human on the shoulder, “Yeah, I know,” then giving into his instincts as alpha he pulled Stiles up into a hug that allowed him to scent the young man. Though the tinge of wolfsbane in Stiles’ system still irritated his nose there was still something just so Stiles-esque about his scent. It made Derek happy. 

“Erica’s going to call you tomorrow; don’t forget to charge your phone,” Derek said to Stiles as he walked to the door, nodding at John meaningfully. The implication was clear, he was trusting John to not screw this up. 

“Not going to use the window?” Stiles’ half-hearted joke landed, but he still felt on edge. It was weird to have Derek here, scenting him – he’s sure that was scenting – and talking to his dad about the supernatural. It was all so weird, and domestic. 

“Not today,” Derek replied, smiling slightly and then he vanished, closing the door behind him.


End file.
